


To break and to mend

by dreams_for_spring



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Jonsa Drabble Fest, Mild Sexual Content, Minor references to scars, Post Jon resurrection, Post Sansa escaping, Sansa beginning to rebuild her life at Castle Black, Season 6 au of sorts, day 4: hidden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24165769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreams_for_spring/pseuds/dreams_for_spring
Summary: In those moments nothing else matters and they forget what they have lost; in those moments they are more than the sum of their broken parts.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 69
Collections: Jon x Sansa Drabble





	To break and to mend

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't expecting to go heavy with a drabble, but here we are. Minor references to scars in case that is a trigger for anyone

Since her arrival at Castle Black, Sansa bathes alone, dresses alone, and covers her chamber mirrors with pelts; the only respite in which she can hide. For most people, the way the world has worn them down is kept deep within, but that is a luxury she no longer has.

At meals or in the courtyard, she wears Jon’s thick, heavy cloak draped over her body, nuzzled safe in a lake of soft fur. She finds comfort in its scent; pine and salt-sweat and well-worn leather, woven deep into the tangled mess of black.

Most days it is enough to quell the rising tide of fear within her, but on others it still swells and crests so violently she cannot leave her chambers. On those days, she finds food and drink sitting outside her door, accompanied by a single winter rose; a quiet, wordless understanding.

The other black brothers talk when they see her, and they talk when they don’t. It matters not though, for words are wind, and the quiet whispers are a shadow of what they’d be if anyone saw what hides just beneath the heavy cloak and roughspun wool.

It is a terrifying thought, that with one careless misstep someone could see her broken world mapped out in thin, stark white lines that have long since turned hard as scale. She is marred and made half-whole, like a milk jug with a fatal crack.

But then there is Jon, and he has cracks of his own; angry and black as the nights in which he steals himself away to her door. Each night he stands there for a time, and Sansa cannot tell if he is building up the courage to knock, or to walk away.

Somehow the door always finds its way to open, by her hand or his.

He will say that her eyes are blue as the roses he leaves by her door, that she smells twice as sweet. He will tell her that they were not broken like porcelain, but fractured like bone; that they have regrown together, stronger now than ever apart.

When they become too tired to speak, he traces the scars that run across her back and down her thighs – featherlight fingers revering her, as though she is both the alter and gods to which he prays.

She finds it easy to do the same for him, watching his eyes flicker gently shut, soothing old wounds that will not heal.

Sometimes when the world becomes so quiet that even the air feels heavy, they find comfort in other ways, bodies stitched so close together nothing could ever come between. She thinks there is strength in giving Jon the love that should have always been hers to give away.

In those moments nothing else matters and they forget what they have lost; in those moments they are more than the sum of their broken parts. They are lifted, vaulted above a ceiling that cannot contain them, and made whole once more.

* * *


End file.
